


whet your appetite

by justlikeswitchblades



Series: SASO 2017 [4]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Body Horror, Candy, Cannibalism, M/M, Vore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 22:22:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11587350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikeswitchblades/pseuds/justlikeswitchblades
Summary: “Chocolate,” Tatsuya finally murmurs, fascinated yet anticlimactic, as if Atsushi eating so many sweets would inevitably turn him into one.





	whet your appetite

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: "everyone says you have a heart of ice / but they're only half right. / you have a heart of ice cream."
> 
> – a softer world [rocky road.]

Every time Tatsuya sees Atsushi, he's concerned that Atsushi is about to melt.

Maybe it's just him spoiled by life in California; winter in Akita has proven to be ruthless, school cancelled twice now due to heavy snowfall, to say nothing of the bite of the chill in the air. Tatsuya has found himself wearing extra layers under his uniform’s mandated ones, UnderArmor under his shirt and shorts even when he's working up a sweat in the gym.

Atsushi, however, can't seem to keep his layers on. He peels off his sweater when he gets to class, from what Tatsuya has heard, and refuses to put on much else when going outside. He rolls up his sleeves, unbuttons as many buttons as he can before the class rep chastises him for not wearing an undershirt, discarding his shirt minutes into the one-on-ones Tatsuya ropes him into playing. He doesn't seem to be getting sick, despite his actions seeming vaguely indicative of a fever, so Tatsuya tries not to worry; he licks the sweat from Atsushi's neck, tasting vaguely sweet, like salted caramel. He watches as Atsushi, dragging his feet on the walk back to the dorms, lays down in the snow, turning his white shirt translucent in an out-of-season contest.

Seeing Atsushi wearing so little has become normal; seeing him start to wear more again, at practice and in the hallway, is what makes Tatsuya turn his head. He still frowns most of the time, tugging at his collar, hair pulled up to keep it off his neck. He's pouty, clearly trying to complain less.

When Tatsuya finally wrestles him out of his t-shirt, the both of them crammed into and still spilling out of Atsushi's dorm room bed, nothing seems to have changed. The large, dark birthmark smeared over the expanse of his pectoral, chest and stomach speckled with a constellation of beauty marks. Tatsuya sees the repeating diamond pattern marked into his skin; he nearly writes it off as the impressions made from the bedsheets, after waking up from a long nap. But the ridges have a raised texture to them, the patch of skin shining with a dull sheen.

“Atsushi,” Tatsuya levels a cool look at him, eyebrow raised just a notch above his mild expression. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I'm fine, Muro-chin,” Atsushi pouts, though he can't fight the way he exhales, lips parting when Tatsuya's fingers skim over his chest.

“Does _that_ feel okay?” Tatsuya inquires again, adjusting his question, trying not to smirk at the way Atsushi’s cheeks color. Atsushi forces a frown, but just for a moment. 

Tatsuya kisses Atsushi, kisses down his neck, drags his lips along the edge of Atsushi's birthmark. He inhales, and is hit with the usual richness of Atsushi's musk. But there's another note in it, a mix of bitter and sweet, that Tatsuya can't quite place. He frowns, lips on Atsushi's skin while he thinks; the patch of skin feels harder yet more brittle at the same time. Then, Tatsuya pulls back just a fraction, eye widening.

“Chocolate,” He finally murmurs, fascinated yet anticlimactic, as if Atsushi eating so many sweets would inevitably turn him into one. Atsushi looks as if he's thinking the same thing, eyebrows raised to suggest either pride or disgust, or perhaps both. He dips his head, sticking out his tongue.

“Atsushi!” Tatsuya swats at his wrist, looking incredulous enough. It's not the part doing the reaching, but it still does the job; Atsushi stops, making a displeased noise in his throat.

“If your dick turned to chocolate, would you eat that too?”

“It’d probably melt if I tried to fuck you with it,” Atsushi shrugs. “Might as well use it for something.”

“Besides,” He continues, his lip turning up in a smirk. “I’d share with you.”

Tatsuya’s poker face rises back up over his features, though Atsushi’s smirk echoes on his own lips. He leans in to Atsushi’s chest again, kissing at the patch of chocolate, licking it all over so it shines brighter with his saliva. The chocolate doesn’t quite melt, but it gets a little sticky, staining his lips. His eye flicks up to Atsushi’s--half-lidded, pupils wide, cheeks pink. He keeps looking at him, fitting his teeth against his chest.

And then he takes a bite.

Atsushi crunches in his mouth, and Tatsuya chews, the chocolate-coated waffle cone going down easily, just like every other ice cream cone he’s had while walking down Santa Monica Pier. Atsushi shudders with a gasp, long fingers working into Tatsuya’s hair, but as far as Tatsuya can tell, it doesn’t hurt. He takes another bite, staring down at the vibrant licorice lace muscle of Atsushi’s pectoral, the red and white stripes on his candy cane ribs. Tatsuya eats up the rest of his birthmark with manicured bites, careful to leave a millimeter of separation between the cone and Atsushi’s paler skin. He slides his lips along a rib like a sugary harmonica, peppermint filling his mouth as the bone thins into a warped spindle, slight enough for him to take a chunk out with a bite. Tatsuya rolls the spire around in his mouth, long enough to push out his cheek on one side, then pulls up, pushing it into Atsushi’s mouth with his tongue. The rise and fall of Atsushi’s chest wavers for a moment, his labored breaths quieting, replacing with the sound of him crunching on his own peppermint bone.

Tatsuya returns to the opening in Atsushi’s chest, taking in a mouthful of licorice, nearly choking with a snort when Atsushi’s stomach rumbles seconds later.

“Not funny, Muro-chin,” Atsushi pushes playfully at Tatsuya’s head, and Tatsuya can’t help grinning, gagging and depositing the half-chewed lump of licorice onto Atsushi’s chest. Atsushi whines with an open mouth, begging for the candy.

“I don’t like licorice,” Tatsuya shrugs. “And I’m starting to regret dragging you to the gym.” He goes in for another bite, feeding it to Atsushi this time, who chews it slowly, his pout edged with the twitches of a smile. Tatsuya’s gaze falls all over Atsushi again; the soft puffs of hair at his armpits like candy floss, so easy to imagine his pink, perked nipples transforming into Hershey kisses, or gumdrops.

A few more bites and that section of Atsushi’s pectoral is mostly cleared away, a sliver of gummy pink lung visible next. What really draws Tatsuya’s attention is what is to its left--multiple scoops of neapolitan ice cream cobbled together into the shape of a human heart. The other half is obscured by Atsushi’s still very human body, and it’s not so deep that Tatsuya couldn’t stick his tongue down for a lick--but he sticks a finger in instead. Atsushi’s heart is so cold it stings Tatsuya to touch it, but he keeps his finger there, applying gentle pressure, watching Atsushi squirm and whimper underneath him, feeling his heart throb into his touch, and his cock throb against his crotch. 

Tatsuya pulls his finger out, his skin discolored by the cold. The ice cream is shining, melted on his fingertip. He looks at his finger, then at Atsushi; then he leans in, kissing Atsushi, his finger trapped between their lips.


End file.
